


Moon|Light

by androidkisser



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Dialogue Heavy, F/F, Mildly Non-canon, Post-World of Warcraft: Legion, Slow Build, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-05-17 12:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14831921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androidkisser/pseuds/androidkisser
Summary: What was it all for, exactly?A troubled Highlord takes some time to reconsider her position after the Legion's defeat, and finds solace in an unexpected place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've got most of this written, so I feel comfortable posting it now to where I won't feel pressured to write every day.
> 
> There may be some slight changes in the timeline of the events at Feathermoon/Sardor Isle that you've read in books or in the quests, but it's nothing major, and the events all still happen. Shandris doesn't get nearly enough attention for what a good character she is, and I've always loved her. I feel like since our characters are as important as they are in the story now (thanks Blizzard, I guess) that we can pretty much set ourselves up with whoever we like and have it still make sense in the lore.
> 
> I personally don't think we should ever have been made the leaders of our Orders, so I hope to explore that, along with the general feeling of "what is power worth".
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, and I would welcome constructive criticism or comments in general, since it's the first time I've managed to write this much in a long time.

Yriaana sighed.

It was not the first time that she had overheard the sentinels' gossip about her presence. Nor would it be the last, she thought to herself, as she laid her mace at the side of her bed.

No, this was something that she would have to put up with, no matter where she sought refuge. It was a simply a fact of life, now, given her status. How irksome.

She had decided a short while ago that she'd had enough of her Order's senseless squabbling and posturing in the wake of the Legion's downfall, leaving Liadrin in charge of business at Light's Hope. She was more than competent – in fact, she often wondered if the Sin'dorei would have done a better job than herself, given the same tools. She had often discussed at length with others if passing the torch along to her was the right thing to do, but nobody had offered anything more than non-committal shrugs in response.

Of course, she had gotten used to that, in recent months. Even in the time leading up to her own leave of absence, there were internal conflicts, sometimes involving her, and sometimes between the branches inside the Order Hall itself.

The Sunwalkers had departed in the weeks after the conflict had come to a head, having very little in common with the rest of the groups under the umbrella of the Silver Hand. That much, Yriaana could understand. They had left on good terms, and if their services had been required, they would likely have helped with the clean-up; at least, up until the Horde had beckoned them back. In that sense, the Blood Knights were in much the same camp. Were it not for Liadrin's forceful hand keeping them both in line and in situ, they would have been back in Silvermoon in less than a fortnight.

The few among the Argent Dawn that had chosen to serve the reformed Silver Hand were growing restless, eager to return to their own duties cleansing and restoring the Plaguelands. Yriaana had bargained with them to stay just a little longer, but only a smattering of those whom she had truly swayed remained.

Only her 'own' knights of Argus, and the original members of the Silver Hand had offered no resistance to the idea of holding the fort – it was reassuring to see that there were some who still trusted in her, but it was not enough, in the end.

Perhaps she would never command the loyalty that Tirion did.

Bickering had broken out between those who had elected to stay, and those who chose to leave, leaving gaping divides between people who had been close friends for over two years, now. Playing mediator could only go so far; in some cases, both parties had turned on Yriaana, blaming her outright for being unable to convince the other party to do as _they_ had wished.

Feralas was quiet, and wonderfully secluded to boot. If someone wished to follow her into the wilderness to air their grievances, they were at the very least dedicated to their cause, and she reluctantly conceded to herself that that would be reason enough to hear them out.

So far, however, none had. It was a small blessing in a world of irritations – a world in which she should feel more comfortable than ever, given what had transpired, yet did not. In fact, she was more restless than she had been in years, near-constantly looking over her shoulder in case that wretched spymaster was there, waiting to plead his case about that pathetic little handful of rocks again.

There were far more pressing matters in her eyes, yet no-one in any position of power had seemed to offer more than a cursory glance at her own suggestions.

And so, she didn't care; that is what she told herself, at least.

Once more, their world had been driven to the brink, and once more, its leaders had chosen to take the opportunity to seek nothing more than the destruction of their rivals in the aftermath of its salvation.

It was ugly; it was disgusting. It was more revolting to her than the sight of the colossal sword plunged into the heart of the planet.

She massaged her temples between her middle finger and thumb, attempting to disperse those thoughts, at least for a time. Coming here would serve little purpose if all she did was silently seethe. The Light would hardly approve, either.

Naturally, everyone in Feathermoon knew her by title, yet none approached her, choosing instead to whisper among themselves. That much didn't bother her, at least – being free from pointless conversations was another of those small blessings that she was thankful for.

The innkeeper, Shyria, was accommodating, and seemed to understand the situation – as best she could, at least. She would swiftly change her sheets when she was absent, or prepare a meal for her return from an outing, if she was given due notice. Cooking for herself was one of the last things on Yriaana's mind, and so she relished the home-made Kaldorei cuisine.

“You should ignore their idle chatter,” Shyria said, tidying away the remnants of the night's meal. “They are simply unused to visitors.”

“Ah, that is – no, they do not bother me,” Yriaana replied, quickly, sitting back down on the side of her bed. “I only wish my presence had less of an impact.”

“You cannot help that, Highlord. Even among the Kaldorei, your deeds are well documented.”

“It is Yriaana,” she muttered, doing her best to keep sour notes from creeping into her voice. _“Please.”_

“My apologies,” Shyria said, sheepishly.

“No, it... it is not your issue,” Yriaana mumbled. “I am sorry.”

“I cannot imagine it is easy for you, but I hope you can find some comfort here,” Shyria said, with a small, only slightly troubled smile. “Your hippogryph is popular with the sentinels, and seems to be making himself at home – if I may, could you not attempt to do the same?”

“Come again?”

“It mightn't be my place to say so, but it may be that the people here are simply scared to offend you – you have spoken scarcely a word to anyone since your arrival,” Shyria explained, quietly, as if the walls of the inn itself would share the secret with the entire settlement. “I am certain that things will settle down if you get to know some of the permanent residents.”

Yriaana stayed silent, choosing to stare instead in the vague direction of the stables. Popular with the sentinels? _Good for him, then,_ Yriaana thought, with a small pout.

“Am I correct in assuming you plan to stay a while longer?”

“I... had intended on it,” Yriaana said, picking at her fingernails, absently.

“Then I can assure you, satisfying their curiosity will be beneficial for everyone involved,” Shyria said, before smirking a little. “They are scolded when they are so obviously distracted, you know.”

“I see,” said Yriaana, feeling a little guilty. “I shall work at making more of an effort, then. Thank you.”

“If it is truly too much, though, do not force yourself,” Shyria added, turning to leave. “That will not help anyone.”

As soon as she was out of sight, Yriaana threw herself back onto the bedsheets, exhaling heavily and running her hands through her thin, silvery hair. Perhaps there was some truth to it – as much as she had wished to retreat into herself for the foreseeable future, the Kaldorei here were not the people that had forced her into taking this course of action.

She had chosen to stay here of all places for a reason, after all. It wasn't as if an inn in Kharanos, or an out-of-the-way guest house in Redridge were bad ideas for the average vacation-goer, but she was hardly that. Though many – her own people included – had always warned her of the 'night elven' haughtiness and distrust of outsiders, she had always found them far more agreeable than the rest of the Alliance, as a whole. She harboured a soft spot for the Darnassian language, too; much less harsh-sounding than her own, and almost relaxing, in the right hands.

It _would_ likely do her some good to talk to some new faces, she repeated internally, albeit reluctantly as she curled up, doing her best to prevent tearing a second set of silken pillowcases open with her horns.

Thankfully, despite it all, sleep still came somewhat easily to her, though the feverish visions that plagued her subconscious mind went deeply unappreciated. The gentle sound of the sea lapping against the coastline only a few yards away from the inn was one of a small handful of things she had found that were able to wash away the day's residual emotions – at least, they were enough to dull the worst of the dreams.

That night, slumber took her quickly, her countenance only just barely giving away the malaise that lay beneath the surface.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It seemed that regardless of whose roof you were under in Azeroth, breakfast was the one meal that was not allowed to be omitted from the day. No matter how much Yriaana grumbled, a fresh soup, or a plate of rice and grilled fish was placed in front of her, without fail, every morning.

It wasn't as if she disliked the food; she simply felt uncomfortable eating at the same table as the other guests, in such close proximity. Dinner was by and large a much more private affair, since everyone's return was somewhat staggered, but as they all tended to wake up at more or less the same time in the mornings, there was no such luck to be had there.

She made excuses that morning the instant she finished her bowl of clams, painfully aware of the not-so-subtle stares that lingered on her as she walked away. Wrapping a cloak about herself, she rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and took a seat on the wooden bench, thankful that nobody had followed her.

It was raining heavily, but it didn't bother her in the least. Letting out a long, deep exhale, she leaned her head back against the cold masonry, and closed her eyes. The dreams – or, no, definitely still nightmares – last night hadn't been as bad as they could have been, but what they were were vivid, almost real. Memories of Xe'ra's forceful tones filled her mind, making her feel nauseous all over again. The Naaru was gone, of course – it would never again have the power to force anyone else along the same path, but even so...

Absently, she ran a finger over the top of her shirt, where one of many raised, golden ridges lay. They still didn't feel right, on her body; still foreign to her touch. She knew, in all likelihood, that that was how they would always feel.

She took in a deep breath, counting to five, before letting it out, slowly. They _weren't_ real, she told herself, as she always did; they were only the mere echoes of memories.

The smell of the salt water overwhelmed her senses as she continued her breathing exercises, reminding her that she couldn't be any further away from the Vindicaar if she tried – decidedly a reassuring thought.

There was always a feeling of constant movement in Feathermoon. Whether it was a sentinel rushing back to her post, a messenger sprinting the length of the courtyard, or a group of hippogryphs being led to their stables, time definitely was not squandered here.

The latter of those three had caught her eye; she watched, as a Kaldorei woman tugged at the reins of a particularly reluctant group of the creatures, eager to get them into shelter. Clearly, they disapproved.

Eventually, she succeeded in getting each in its own pen, wiping the sweat from her already sodden brow with the back of her arm. The woman disappeared from view, briefly, bending down to pick something up – she resurfaced shortly after, a sack of food beneath each arm.

The reaction was instantaneous, with feathered necks craning to get first pickings; the contents of one of the sacks were spilt in seconds, wrenched from the Kaldorei's grip with a strong beak-hold.

It was only then that she noticed that one of the offending beaks in question belonged to her own hippogryph. She all but rolled her eyes, pushing herself off of the bench. It simply would not do for him to cause trouble for her.

Though the sound of her hooves meeting the stone path over and again had no doubt given her away to even the least sensitive of ears, the Kaldorei dutifully tending to the mess politely chose to pretend that she hadn't heard Yriaana approach. Perhaps the heavy rainfall would be a good enough excuse for her to say she hadn't noticed, she mused.

“His name is Taluun,” Yriaana said, gently, still startling the woman into a little jump as she stepped inside the stables, “and I apologise on his behalf.”

She shot a little frown towards her mount.

The elf turned to face her, brushing damp, green hair out of her face. She shook her head, as if to say 'I'm used to it'.

“Taluun,” she echoed, rolling the word on her tongue before seemingly gathering herself together. “A pleasant name to say, isn't it?”

Yriaana smiled softly in response.

“He was a gift, from the Silver Covenant,” she went on, looking up at the darkened sky. It was a decent reflection of her state of mind, but she had promised herself to engage in at least _one_ conversation today, after all. “A temperamental creature, if ever there was one.”

“He is certainly feistier than any of ours,” the elf replied, her Common very well rehearsed; much more so than Shyria's. “Ah – I am Irela, our hippogryph master.”

“Yriaana,” said the Draenei, purposely leaving out the bitter-tasting title. “I am told that the sentinels are rather taken with him.”

“Well, he _is_ an oddity here,” Irela replied, patting the silver-white plumage in front of her, before adding, “as are you.”

“I am told that, too,” Yriaana said, pursing her lips briefly, eager to be off the subject. “Are the storms here always this severe?”

“Yes, and no,” said Irela. “Only since the Shattering, as I have been informed.”

“Ah,” Yriaana said, unsure how to continue the conversation. “You have not been here long, then?”

“I arrived shortly afterward, from Auber– Lor'danel,” she said, tripping over her words. “My father did not survive, and so I came to assist in his place.”

“My apologies,” Yriaana muttered, inwardly cursing that she had somehow managed to steer the conversation somewhere so morbid, so soon. “I did not mean to – that is, I would not have–”

Irela began to wave an outstretched hand, fervently, cutting Yriaana off mid flow.

“Elune, no! It is a difficult subject, but I have done my grieving,” she said, quickly. “My sister and I are doing well for ourselves now, all things considered.”

“Your sister?” Yriaana asked, keen to keep her conversation topics to relatives known to be alive. “Is she here with you?”

“She remained in Lor'danel,” Irela stated, simply. “She is their hippogryph master – it has always been in our family, no matter where we should end up.”

“Then I suppose it is good fortune that I spoke with you first,” said Yriaana. “It is comforting to know that he is in good hands.”

“I shall endeavour to do my best,” Irela said, with a sincere nod. She looked up, then, her silver eyes meeting Yriaana's golden ones. “May I – ah, would it be alright to ask something?”

The fact that Irela was asking permission to simply ask a question was enough to take her aback; it was such a stark contrast to the brazen pushing that she was so used to now.

“What is it?”

“What exactly brings you here?” Irela averted her gaze, as if ashamed of her own request. “Everyone knows who you are, and what you have done, but...”

“I need some time for myself, away from... things,” she decided on, after a short pause. “It is – well, it is a little difficult to explain.”

Irela shook her head.

“There is no need,” she said, quietly, barely audible above the rain hitting the roof above them. “I can almost see the hardships you have endured on your face.”

“Is that so,” she muttered, mostly to herself. Was it that obvious?

“The sentinels – and, admittedly, myself – were worried you had been sent here to take charge. Orders from on high, or something along those lines,” Irela explained. “Even Lady Shandris did not know what to do with herself, and we have not seen her quite so flustered in quite some time.”

“Perhaps I should have given notice,” Yriaana said, with another sigh. The name was familiar to her, though – she recalled it coming up a fair number of times during meetings at Light's Hope. “Shandris? Feathermoon? She is here? I had thought...”

“She is never _not_ here, these days. She has not even deigned to mention the hunting lodge in Highmountain since returning.”

“I suppose I am out of touch with recent happenings,” Yriaana muttered. “Though, I also suppose that seven years is hardly recent...”

“I doubt that anyone would hold it against you,” Irela said, another warm smile crossing her features, her fears clearly assuaged. “You should introduce yourself – perhaps make your intentions known, so that she does not lose her mind to worry?”

“Truthfully, you are the first I have spoken to here,” Yriaana said, quietly. “Is she agreeable?”

“To us? Goodness, no,” Irela laughed. “To you? I have no doubt.”

A muffled 'hmm' was all Yriaana could muster.

“It is nice to have met you,” said Irela. Her voice felt a little far away, but it was a decidedly pleasant change to hear 'nice to meet you' instead of 'it is an honour'. “If there is anything I can do for you, or for Taluun, you will let me know, won't you?”

Yriaana smiled, then, a genuine one.

“When the weather settles, perhaps you could take him out to spread his wings?”

Irela's mouth fell agape.

“You would... let me?”

“He gets restless after a few days stabled, and I am reluctant to let him take wing alone around so many Horde encampments,” Yriaana said. “He seems to have taken a liking to you, as well.”

“Y-yes, there are quite a few around here, but – he is _your –_ ”

“Please,” Yriaana said, leaning back against the wall of the stable. “Just treat me as you would anyone else.”

“I am afraid you may be asking the impossible, if you wish for everyone here to follow that proposition,” Irela said, shaking her head. “There are some here – Lady Shandris included – who have repelled the onslaught of the Legion before, and as much as you will it, it cannot be swept under the rug that _you_ were among the ones to end it.”

Yriaana looked over at her, seeing not blind admiration, but genuine sincerity in her youthful features.

“You are not one of the 'some' you mentioned, though,” she pointed out.

“I haven't even a thousand years behind me, nor am I the military type,” Irela said, with a little pout. “You must see what I mean, though – it would be folly to think that you could pretend to be nobody, here of all places.”

Yriaana bit her bottom lip, a little harder than she should. She knew the other woman was right, and she was glad of the honesty, if nothing else.

“If everyone here is minded as you are, then I suppose I can handle that,” she admitted, albeit a little grudgingly.

“Mm,” Irela hummed, looking out at the rain. “Most will be understanding, although...”

“Go on?”

“If they should press you for details, it would not be the worst thing for you to oblige,” Irela said, seemingly half lost in thought. “There are some lingering feelings that you alone could no doubt put to rest, with the right words.”

They stood together in silence for some time, watching the angry sky. A streak of lightning, or a peal of thunder would sometimes make Irela flinch – it was equal parts amusing and endearing, Yriaana found.

“I will speak with Shandris tomorrow, rather than tonight,” she thought out loud, breaking the other woman out of her reverie. “I believe there is a human expression? – _baby steps?"_

“Oh! Well, if you are to do so, please tell her that the hippogryph hatchlings are doing well,” Irela said, her excitement evident. “She can have her pick of the clutch in a month or so.”

“Of course,” Yriaana said, “though, would it not be better if you were to tell her yourself?”

“She makes me – well, a little nervous,” Irela admitted, playing with her braid. “I am still but a child in her eyes, and she never misses a chance to remind me.”

Yriaana stopped short of letting out a little snort. She _was_ still a child.

“Then I will be sure to,” she said, pulling up the hood of her cloak. “Take care.”

“Ande'thoras-ethil,” Irela said, softly, finding her way around her mother tongue a little easier. “May your troubles ease.”

“Thank you,” whispered Yriaana, taking up a measured stride back towards the inn.

_May they indeed,_ she thought.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating in a while - my PC was dead for quite some time and it took me a while to recover my old files. Lesson learned to back up from now on, I guess!

Tomorrow came far quicker than she had expected.

As Yriaana walked into the largest – though definitely by far not the tallest – building in the stronghold, she found there to be an uncomfortable thickness to the air. The reason for it was soon made apparent to her, when she felt, and then saw the eyes of five, or perhaps six, maybe even seven sentinels all on her.

She assumed that the stairs at the side of the room would lead her where she needed to be, given that a pair of the guards stood at each end. As she approached, one sentinel stood to attention, prompting her partner to give her a scathing look. Yriaana offered a weak smile in return, deciding to nip the situation in the bud before it took a turn for the worse.

She cleared her throat, as inoffensively as she could.

“Is this... where I might find Lady Shandris?”

The sentinel who had saluted her was the one to answer, much to the apparent chagrin of her friend.

“Usually, yes” she said, unperturbed by the unpleasant glaring, “though, she is currently away on business, and we do not expect her back for another hour, or thereabouts. May I pass on a message, Highlord?”

“Only that I wished to speak with her when it is convenient,” Yriaana said, unable to prevent herself from stealing glimpses at the other scowling woman. Had she done something to offend?

The sentinel nodded once.

“I shall see that she is told.”

Yriaana inclined her head politely to each of them in turn, more than a little confused. As far as she was aware, she hadn't broken any rules since arriving, nor had she done anything she would consider disrespectful.

It couldn't be helped, then. Whatever the sentinel's problem had been with her, she hoped it was an isolated case.

Mildly exasperated, she took a seat on the stone steps of the moonwell next to the building. The sky was gloomy and overcast, though it didn't look as if it would rain again. Only a few rays of sun found their way through the thick canopy of trees at the best of times, and it was decidedly rather dark, even now, at the advent of evening-time.

She turned her attentions to the moonwell behind her, peering into its lambent waters. It seemed to draw her in, and she soon lost track of her own thoughts. They shifted rapidly between the comforting feeling of the bedsheets at the inn wrapping around her at night, to the pain she felt during that unnatural ritual, to the terror that shook her to the core at the thought of yet another war.

With some effort, she was able to push the intrusive thoughts away, focusing only on what may be to come in the next few weeks.

Her train of thought was derailed soon after, when a voice jolted her upright.

“Are you taken with the moonwell, Highlord?” it queried, softly.

Just how long had she been sitting there? An hour? Two? Twelve?

Yriaana stood; she was more than positive she had heard the voice before, at some point after arriving on Azeroth. When or where, though, she couldn't be certain.

“You are Shand– ah, Lady Shandris, I believe?” she asked, almost forgetting her manners. The Kaldorei was covered head to toe in thick leather armour, as well as a mask that obscured the top half of her face. Her dark blue hair was drawn up into a messy high tail, and her voice had a decidedly breathy quality to it. When she nodded, Yriaana went on, “I have never understood their purpose, but I find them beautiful – well, calming, I suppose? I apologise, I must seem... ignorant.”

The woman shook her head.

“Not at all,” she said, reassuringly. “I can explain them to you, if you would like.”

“I – yes, but perhaps later?” Yriaana offered, eager to smooth away any misunderstandings. “I should like to put your mind at ease, given what I have heard.”

“Heard? What? From whom?” Shandris asked, embarrassed, before letting out a sigh. “Well, it is of no consequence, in the end. What is it you wished to say, Highlord?”

“If you would, it is Yriaana,” she said, for what felt like the eighth time in one day alone.

“In that case, you may dispense with the formalities, too – just Shandris will be fine,” the Kaldorei said, before waving a hand in the air. “Well, what _is_ the reason for your stay, then?”

It was very blunt, but Yriaana could at least understand why.

“I... the trappings of my title were getting too much to handle,” she said, as straight as she could. “Forgive me, I do not mean to imply your base of operations is a some comfortable retreat... I am not here on orders from the Alliance, is what I mean to say.”

Shandris' shoulders visibly relaxed, along with the rest of her. Evidently, Irela had been right – she _had_ been flustered over her arrival.

“There is no need for forgiveness, Highl– no, no need,” she said, just barely catching the word as it left her tongue. “It most definitely is not a go-to location for a break, however – not least recently.”

Yriaana inclined her head, curious what was meant by that 'recently'.

“Ah – well, I suppose you didn't come here to hear of our troubles either, did you?” Shandris said, sitting down on the stone step – an indirect invitation for Yriaana to join her.

“I am more than willing to listen,” Yriaana replied, curling her legs underneath her, as she joined the sentinel.

“If you are sure,” Shandris said, with a sigh. “As you've no doubt seen, the sea giants have been encroaching of late.”

“They are rather hard to miss,” Yriaana agreed.

“Their numbers are seemingly endless,” continued Shandris. “We have never seen them quite so aggressive – our assumption is that they have struck a deal with the resident naga.”

“There are naga, too?” Those, she hadn't seen.

“This is not the first Feathermoon,” Shandris admitted, casting her eyes down at the stones beneath them. “Do you see Sardor Isle, to the west?”

Yriaana squinted. The thick fog hanging in the air didn't make it easy, but she could make out the outlines of trees, and what could be night elven masonry.

“That is where the ruins of the first lie,” she went on. “After the Shattering, what was not lost to tidal waves was overrun with the Hatecrest – and with our forces as they were, we could only...”

Shandris clenched her fist. Time had not healed that particular wound.

“They covet their sandbar, but we pulled ourselves up again, and built what you see here. We will drive them back, when the time is right.”

“Your numbers may be few, but they are disciplined,” Yriaana said, with what she hoped was an air of confidence. “I do not doubt that your garrison will come to be as it once was.”

“I am glad for your faith,” Shandris said, looking out at the isle. “Though, it would be dealt with a lot sooner, were the rest of the Alliance not so caught up with something further out at sea.”

Yriaana felt her teeth grinding together in an instant. She knew exactly what that something was.

“There, we agree,” she hissed. “It is the reason I could not bear to stay at their negotiating table any longer. They fight like animals over this wretched stone they have found, after everything we have –”

She stopped herself short, realising her temper had gotten the better of her. She hadn't wanted anyone here to see that bitterness.

“It's good to see you have a backbone,” Shandris said, softly. Yriaana bit her bottom lip; that was an unexpected reaction. “You may not be aware, but the Kaldorei's ties to the Alliance have always been tenuous. I... do not agree with this course of action, either.”

“All this talk of _'unity'_ this, and _'stand together'_ that,” Yriaana whispered. “As soon as the Legion's end came, it was all shown to be empty words.”

“Ah,” Shandris said, what was visible of her face lighting up. “I had almost forgotten the one responsible for that is sitting next to me.”

“Oh, do not,” Yriaana said, waving a dismissive hand, though it was not entirely serious. “I did not come here to bask in the afterglow. Besides, I was not alone, and –”

“It's perhaps the greatest shame that such a victory has been tainted by what came after it,” Shandris said, “but it does not make your victory any less important.”

“Mm.”

“At any rate,” Shandris went on, sensing that the subject was a sore one, “I... understand your sentiments, and would likely struggle with it too, were I in your position.”

Yriaana simply watched her, as she removed her mask; when she had finished, she found herself taken in by her eyes. They were of a softer glow than Irela's, gentle enough to the point where she was able to follow where she was looking.

“You may stay as long as you like,” Shandris stated, as if she were openly challenging any resistance to the idea in the settlement with her words. “I doubt anyone will object, but if there are problems, I am here more often than I am not.”

“If they do object, it is only natural,” Yriaana pointed out. “You have said it yourself; if you are not so close to the Alliance, then it makes sense for your people to be wary.”

“I should _hope_ they are willing to make an exception for _you,_ ” Shandris said, the air of a threat lingering in her voice. A smile spread across her face seconds after, making that same threat feel just a little less – well, threatening. “I am glad that you found your way here.”

As she stood up, a thought pricked at the back of Yriaana's mind.

“Irela says that the hippogryph hatchlings are doing well,” she said, “and that you will be able to pick whichever you like in around a month or so.”

“Ah, that _is_ good news!” Shandris exclaimed, happily. “I have not had my own, since...”

She had trailed off, the smile fading a little.

“Well, Irela seems to think the clutch is promising,” Yriaana said, attempting to keep the mood at the high point it had reached mere seconds ago. “I have no reason to doubt her – it seems it truly is her family's calling.”

“Yes, her father is – was – a wonderful trainer, too. She has a lot to learn, in matters both social and professional, but she will no doubt outstrip him, in time.”

“I shall let her know that you said so,” Yriaana said, finding herself giggling at the sentinel's reaction.

“You must _not,_ ” Shandris implored. “It will do her no good to know that I am not as terrifying as she seems to think – oh, do stop laughing!”

“Forgive me,” Yriaana said, the smile still lingering on her features. “It has been some time since I found something quite so amusing.”

“Were you Kaldorei, I would be obligated to scold you for mocking someone by far your elder,” Shandris said, with half a pout. It was not something Yriaana had expected from the general of the sentinel army, but still, she felt it was her duty to correct her.

“If you were indeed my elder, perhaps you would be, yes,” she said, with a wry smile. “As it stands, I should say that you are most definitely not.”

Shandris' face went from a pout, to looking desperately shocked, then back to a pout again in a matter of seconds, almost spurring a fresh round of laughter from Yriaana.

“If that is true, then you do not look it,” she said, with a mild frown. “If I were to say I had lived ten thousand years, how much longer do you claim?”

“You can likely add around six thousand or so to that,” Yriaana replied, simply.

“Or so? _Likely?”_

“I have stopped counting,” she confessed. “For many reasons.”

“I suppose... it _does_ get rather difficult,” Shandris mused. “Well, I shall leave you to your thoughts – perhaps tomorrow, you would be interested to know more of the moonwells?”

Yriaana shook her head.

“I am afraid that I have... plans for the day, but – if you are available in the evening, I should be glad to take you up on it, if the offer would still stand?”

“It would,” Shandris replied, beginning to walk away at a brisk pace, stopping only briefly. “You will make sure not to forget, won't you? I am not one that appreciates being kept waiting, you know.”

“You have my word,” Yriaana called after her, well aware of the weight that her 'word' carried. She took a deep breath, as Shandris disappeared into the building in front of her.

It was a little unnerving just how simple, pleasant, and honest the conversations seemed to be, in this place. There were no hidden agendas, no secret plots – it was a breath of fresh air, both figuratively and literally.

Tomorrow, she had decided, would be a day to begin something new.

Something perhaps unwise, but something new, at least.

 


	4. Chapter 4

She had ended up stretching Taluun's wings herself, after all.

The journey to Sardor Isle had been short and swift, but not an insignificant one in her mind. It was the first time in what felt like a small eternity that she had decided on something without seeking counsel, and without fear of putting anyone else in harm's way.

It felt good; it felt freeing.

Her mace slammed into the skull of the naga general; the loud, sickening crunch told her that she had struck true, and the bright flash of light that accompanied it whispered to her that her actions were righteous. Inwardly, she questioned if the Light truly knew what was or what was not righteous, but she let those thoughts slip away as quickly as they had come to her.

The serpent blood soaked her cloak, the naga crumpling to the floor in an untidy heap. What few subordinates she had left alive to witness the scene had fled – an example had been made, and past experience had taught her that the interlopers would not soon return.

It hadn't been a difficult fight physically – for her, at least – but with every blow, she was able to force out some of the feelings unbecoming of her status. It was a welcome outlet for the anger she should not feel, but did. It would never, _could_ never quell the nausea that arose when she thought of what was to come, but it was enough, for now.

With the general's head safely secured in a linen sack tied to her saddle, she mounted Taluun once more, petting him softly on the neck.

“It was good to have come,” she told him, as she gazed at the setting sun. “I needed this.”

The hippogryph crowed a low note of approval, before taking wing.

Though the air was still hot and humid from the storm, at the speed she was pressing her mount, it felt as refreshing as a sprint through Winterspring. The sun was setting, disappearing beneath the line of trees even from her high vantage point, casting long and imposing shadows on the stronghold.

She landed just shy of the river running alongside the settlement, so that Taluun could wash at least some the blood from his white plumage.

“I would stay longer and help, but I have an appointment to keep,” Yriaana whispered softly to her companion, smoothing the feathers atop his head. “Return to Irela when you are done; do not fly alone.”

A mildly disgruntled noise escaped his beak, but he seemed to take the hint, bending low and beginning to work at the stains.

As she arrived back at the stronghold, she could at least understand the stares, this time around. The unsightly, dripping sack, along with her own bloodstained armor hardly made for pleasant viewing.

Shandris spotted her from the first floor of the inn; she looked to have been in conversation with Shyria – no doubt to ask if she had seen Yriaana.

“Ah, it's good to see you remem– _Elune,_ what is _that?!_ What is – you are _covered_ in –!”

Yriaana smiled at her, knowing full well that such an action would no doubt be a little unsettling, given her current state of dress.

“If you come down here, I shall show you,” she called up. “I do not wish to get Shyria's floors dirty.”

Shandris vaulted the balcony with ease, landing on her feet as if she had simply skipped a stair.

“When you said you had plans, I did not think you meant _this,_ ” she said, unsure whether to voice disapproval, or give way to curiosity.

“Walk with me,” Yriaana said. It felt almost like giving an order, but it was more of a polite request than anything. “It will save some trouble.”

“Am I safe in assuming it is not the head of King Wrynn you have in there?” Shandris asked, only half-joking, as they made their way to the shoreline.

“I would not – oh, I see,” Yriaana said, catching the jest only seconds too late. “No, it is nothing like that.”

“Well,” Shandris said, as they reached the coast, the water threatening to lap at their ankles. “Do not keep me in suspense any longer.”

Yriaana untied the rope upending the bag at their feet with a sickly thump; Shandris gasped, before falling silent. A complicated look crossed her features.

“Why?” she asked, quietly. “You said that you came here to clear your mind, and yet, you...”

“It is done, is it not?” Yriaana queried, a little bemused.

“W-we... we simply could not risk any losses, it is why we did not – have never–”

“You are making excuses where you need not,” stated Yriaana, sounding much more like the Highlord than she intended, or knew. “Do not do that.”

Shandris' lips flattened against one another.

“The isle was yours to begin with, was it not?”

“Yes,” Shandris replied, sullenly. “It was. But –”

Yriaana found herself panicking a little. Had she been wrong to do this?

“I did not mean to overstep my bounds,” she offered, weakly. “It – it was not my intention to belittle your work...”

“No,” Shandris said, meeting her eyes. “You did no such thing.”

“Then why do you look so...” Yriaana trailed off, fumbling for a word that could possibly describe the expression on her face. “You do not look pleased.”

“I have attempted to request aid to take back what was our home for years,” Shandris said, her voice halfway between a whisper and a croak. “At every turn, there was an excuse – no, it was always a ' _more pressing matter' –_ that's what they would say, without fail.”

“I... see.”

“Adventurers would come and go, but... as you can see, we have little to offer in return,” Shandris continued, her voice cracking. “They were not interested. That is why it pains me to see what you have accomplished in a mere day. For how things could have been – not for how they are.”

 

Light, what was she supposed to say to that?

 

“I wanted to help,” was all she managed. “It was not right.”

Shandris looked up at her, eyes gleaming with more than just their latent glow. There were tears threatening to fall, but she held them back.

“I am truly grateful,” she said, placing a hand on Yriaana's arm, “and I am sure all here will share those sentiments. We are indebted to you, Highlord.”

“You are _not,_ ” Yriaana said, firmly. “If you insist on reminding me of my position, then it is surely the Highlord's right to aid whom and where she so chooses.”

Shandris seemed to consider this for a moment, before a little smirk forced its way through the sour downturn.

“I suppose that is true,” she said, finally. “Though, I had not expected to be the benefactor of your charity.”

“It is not charity!” Yriaana blurted out, all sense of self-discipline forgotten. She almost felt offended. “I simply – I wished to help _you!_ ”

“To help... me?” Shandris asked, taken aback. “Why?”

Yriaana herself wasn't even entirely sure where the outburst had come from – while it wasn't exactly untrue that her appeal had took root in her heart, it certainly hadn't been at the forefront of her mind when her mace was mid-swing.

“It was – it was your eyes,” Yriaana mumbled, her face burning. “They are – clear.”

“My...?” Shandris looked at her, blankly.

“Yes,” the Draenei went on, some twisted compulsion forcing her into blunt honesty. “They told me that you are capable and headstrong, but not yet hardened; you are wise, yet you still consider your emotions; you are – still innocent, and...”

A pause. Yriaana held her breath.

“You can tell all of that,” Shandris started, searching Yriaana's face, “from someone's eyes?”

“People are not always easy to read,” Yriaana said quickly, her voice threatening to falter. “They hide behind layers of dishonesty and walls of lies, but... you are not like that, and that is why I – why I...”

“I see,” the sentinel replied. “I... do not know what to say. I still do not see quite why that would...”

“P-perhaps it was inappropriate of me to comment on such personal things,” Yriaana stammered out, horribly aghast. “If you would just – if you could pass me that pike, we can display the head, and the sea giants, you see – they will be discouraged, and –”

“It is a little strange to be informed of such a thing,” Shandris interjected; thankfully, she was smiling. “But I do not seem to mind as much as I think I would, if someone else were to have told me.”

Yriaana breathed a barely audible sigh of relief, still eyeing the wooden pike, as if it would handle the situation for her. Perhaps she could place her own head atop it, and then she would no longer have to deal with –

“It is not so easy to read yours,” Shandris said, slowly, the sudden change in topic making the paladin feel extremely self-conscious. “Though, I suppose I have never seen any such as those, and it is not as if I am gifted with the same such perception.”

“They are –” she swallowed audibly, “– a consequence of undertaking a trial of the Light. It brings us closer to understanding its true nature.”

“I see,” Shandris said, continuing to hold her gaze steady. “Perhaps it would be better for me to judge you on your actions, then, rather than taking a blind guess.”

“Blind, you say,” Yriaana mumbled. Shandris chose to ignore it, but smirked nonetheless.

“You are unused to these sorts of personal conversations, are you not? Oh, do not look at me like that! It is more obvious than if you had worn that head there as a disguise,” she said, her gentle laugh putting Yriaana just a little bit more at ease. “I am rather humbled to be shown see this side of a person I have only heard of in reports and tales.”

“W-well, yes, that is... hand me that pike, would you?”

Shandris laughed more openly, driving it into the ground with force herself instead.

“So, tell me instead, then – was he a match for you?”

 


	5. Chapter 5

It was a strange feeling – never before had she let someone fly with her, and the arms wrapped tightly around her midsection were a decidedly foreign feeling.

_Hardly unpleasant, though,_ she thought to herself, absently.

“Are you sure about this?” Shandris muttered into her back. “I do not see any naga, but there may yet be stragglers...”

“I am sure that between us, we could handle it,” Yriaana hummed, her eyes focused on scanning the ground below them.

“You are confident,” Shandris murmured. “It is reassuring. The last time I was here, I was barely an inch from death.”

“On my honor, I would not see any harm come to you,” said Yriaana, firmly.

“I believe it,” came the unheard whisper.

They circled the ruins of the pavilion, before landing just shy of the building the naga general had holed himself up in. There were still several corpses scattered this way and that, but neither of the pair commented on the matter; that would be a task for another time.

“Is it strange that I still think it a beautiful place, even as it is?” Shandris asked, softly, her voice the only sound in the calm of the night. There wasn't even the gentle trill of birdsong on this island, though there no doubt had been, at one point.

“No,” Yriaana said. “I thought so, too.”

“I had started to think I would never set foot on these paths again,” said Shandris, looking down at the ground. “So many years spent here, and yet...”

Yriaana said nothing, leaving Shandris to her thoughts. It was not her place to intrude.

“It is a miracle the towers even stayed upright,” Shandris said, pointing to the larger of the two. “The fury of the tides was truly frightful, that day. Mm, do you think – no, never mind. It is a foolish thought.”

“What is it?”

“Would I be harbouring false hope if I wished to see if some mementos may have survived?”

“Hope is hope,” Yriaana said, in a low voice. “It is never foolish to hope.”

“You always seem to know the right thing to say,” said Shandris, smiling gently. “I have known you but a few days, and already you have become adept at putting my thoughts in order for me.”

“No, it is – it is not – let us take a look inside your tower, yes?”

“You are unused to dealing with compliments too, it seems.”

“Only the ones that seem genuine,” Yriaana mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Oh – nothing.”

The ramp leading to the top of the easternmost tower was damaged, but the climb was manageable with some well-placed hops across the stonework.

“If you think about it, it is nothing short of a miracle the isle itself remains,” Shandris mused, as she clambered through the open doorway at the top, the frame having come away from its fixings. “The Isle of Dread was swallowed up in the same waters, though I cannot say it was much of a great loss.”

“With a name such as that, I cannot imagine that it was, no,” Yriaana said, forcing her way through the entrance, that was almost too tight for her. “This has been... picked clean.”

“Thankfully, I am not looking for valuables,” Shandris replied, shaking her head at the ruined interior. “Quite _why_ the naga need to plunder settlements is beyond me, but we are looking for something more – ah, this is...”

She had picked up a leather-bound book; most of the pages were stuck together from water damage, but the text seemed at least somewhat legible on some of the outermost pages.

“This was – Elune, this was Quintis' research on Morrowgrain... so many nights, we would discuss Staghelm, and his deviance...”

“I will not pry,” Yriaana said, feeling uncomfortably out of place. The idea of touching any of the things here made her a little uneasy.

“He was an old friend,” Shandris said, placing the book in a satchel at her hip. “Ah, would that I could talk to him just one more time...”

She went around the room, picking up little oddities and knick-knacks, securing them along with the book.

“I will keep watch outside,” Yriaana began, the awkwardness now truly setting in. This was not her home. These were not her people. She had no need, no _right_ to –

A hand on her elbow stopped her mid-turn, and she looked down at it, surprised.

“I would appreciate your continued company,” muttered Shandris. “It is difficult enough being here with you, let alone if I were by myself.”

Yriaana continued to stare for a moment.

“If you wish it,” she said, quietly.

Shandris nodded in thanks, with a little smile, then continued to place things in her pack, some looking much worse for wear than others.

 

“I think I have gathered anything that may hold some significance for the ones who survived,” she said, after a time. “The other tower...”

“Yes,” Yriaana said, doing her best not to let the melancholy mood affect her voice. She was no stranger to this sort of thing, but it did not get easier with time. “We can head there now.”

The other tower was not much worse for wear, thankfully; if anything, the surrounding trees had sheltered it from the full force of the waters. There were a large number of naga tridents embedded in the wood, which was admittedly not a promising sign.

The ascent up the ramp was even a little easier than at the eastern tower, but as they neared the top, Yriaana instinctively threw her arm out, catching Shandris full in the chest.

“What? What is it?” Asked the sentinel, slightly winded.

“The aura of death is heavy around this place,” Yriaana whispered. It was something she was very in tune with – sometimes, she wished she was not. “Perhaps I should go first.”

Shandris shook her head.

“I am hardly unfamiliar with death. I... I must see it with my own eyes,” she said, the lump in her throat almost audible. “There are yet some unaccounted for, despite our best efforts, and some kind of confirmation for their relatives would be...”

“I understand,” Yriaana said, though there was an itch in the back of her mind that still wished to keep her away. “From the looks of things, this was something of a last stand.”

Shandris did not speak for a time, seemingly steeling herself.

“Let us get this over with,” she said, finally.

There were six corpses inside the room on the top floor; four naga, and two Kaldorei. They had died outnumbered, evidently, but had managed to take down more than their share of assailants.

There was not much left of the latter two, but the weapons they had died holding and the armor they had worn were mostly intact.

Shandris looked as if she might vomit for a moment, but managed to pull herself back around.

“Ginro,” she whispered. “Oh, and Runethorn... you were never a fighter.”

Yriaana remained as impassive as she could; she had no way of telling what the correct way to act would be.

“Shortly after the Shattering, we... that is, my Lady, Tyrande came here, to –” Shandris choked on her words, before starting anew. “We were so sure that those – those who had fallen had been brought to Darnassus, but never for a second did I think that they had lain here all this time.”

“It would doubtless not be too late to inform her that more yet remain,” Yriaana said, taking a step closer. “I do not claim to have had many dealings with the High Priestess, but I know that –”

“Oh,” Shandris said, facing her. “She is my mother in all but blood, you know – she and Malfurion adopted me, a long time ago.”

“I – I see,” Yriaana said, taking time to let that sink in, and feeling more than a little foolish.

“I will see to it that this is addressed,” Shandris said, doing her best to stand tall. “When we arrive back, I will have their remains gathered and brought to Feathermoon, for the time being.”

Yriaana could only nod her acquiescence.

“A little strange to say that, as I stand in Feathermoon,” Shandris said, with a sigh. “This place is...”

“Let us continue this discussion outside,” Yriaana offered. “We can take care of this once we return, yes?”

Shandris inclined her head, by way of agreement.

 

They sat at the base of what had been the old inn's entrance; Shandris had recovered enough from the shock to where the colour had returned to her cheeks, at least.

“You said that the last time you were here, you were close to death,” Yriaana said, breaking the silence. It had been bothering her since they had arrived. “What happened?”

“When the naga first invaded, their numbers were overwhelming,” Shandris began, slowly. “I gave the order to evacuate to the mainland, and stayed behind to help as many escape as I could.”

“That was... an honourable decision.”

Shandris shook her head, gently.

“It was simply my duty,” she said. “To my people, and to my title as general. At any rate, some were reluctant, and had to be practically forced onto their hippogryphs – by the time I had managed to get what I thought was the majority away, I was out of time. I fought off the naga as best I could, but...”

There was a pained expression on her face, as if she were straining to bring things to the forefront of her mind.

“After that, the only thing I can remember is that my Lady was clutching me tightly, thanking Elune. I was almost lost, she said.”

“Mm.”

“I do not think I will be coming back here,” she muttered. “When I look around, it is... unpleasant. There are too many memories of my own failure, of my weakness.”

Yriaana bit down on her bottom lip, briefly.

“It need not be that,” she spoke, after a short internal battle. “Please, bear with me – are you familiar with the story of Tyr?”

“I am aware of the myth,” Shandris replied, a little bemused, “though my knowledge is likely full of holes.”

“He was the mightiest of the titanic watchers,” Yriaana replied. “He fought during a time when the dragon aspects were young, and gave much for Azeroth. The Order of the Silver Hand you know now was named after his own silver hand, forged to replace one he lost in battle.”

Shandris kept her eyes on her, listening with rapt attention, as Yriaana went on.

“When asked, he replied that he did not consider his hand a reminder of his defeat – for him, it was a symbol of the sacrifices that he made to defend Azeroth. It is said, that... that he wished for the world to see it that way, as well.”

“So, you are saying that...”

“I am trying to say that – that it is unhealthy for you to see only failure in these ruins,” Yriaana said. “Even should you never call them your home again, it is still a testament to what you have accomplished in the past, what you will continue to accomplish – and to what you were willing to give for your people.”

“I – I... thank you,” Shandris said, a lone tear escaping the corner of her eye, and rolling softly down her cheek. “You do not know what it means to me to hear that.”

“You are a good leader,” Yriaana said. “It is plain for anyone to see – there is nothing here for you to be ashamed of.”

Shandris smiled, though more tears were beginning to fall.

“And you are kind,” she said, through sniffles. “Too kind.”

Yriaana rested her bare hand atop Shandris' gloved one, tentatively.

“It is not kindness,” she whispered. “They are things you ought to have been told.”

The other woman said nothing for a time, simply looking down at their hands. Eventually, she spoke, in a low voice.

“Did you wish to be the leader of your order? Forgive me, I am merely curious.”

“No,” Yriaana answered, simply. “It was thrust upon me at a time that I could not very well decline.”

“I always wanted to be in a position to help,” Shandris said, with a gentle sigh. “When my Lady told me I was to be general of the sentinel army, I was overjoyed.”

“But now?”

“Now, I... I would not change how things are, but I am more acutely aware of the burden of responsibility. Would that I could go back and tell myself just how heavy it would be.”

“I cannot say the same, though I probably should,” Yriaana said, looking at the floor. “I have been thinking of standing down.”

The answer did not surprise Shandris, given what she already knew.

“I spent some time at the hunting lodge in Highmountain, during the last couple of years,” she began, idly turning her hand over beneath Yriaana's, so that they were palm to palm. “Well, my presence was requested – I was not there by choice. The hunt-master there was full of himself, so utterly cocksure; honestly, I could barely stand to be around him. It would not have been the worst thing if he had relinquished his own title, or perhaps torn to pieces by falcosaurs.”

“I should like to think I was not so actively disliked,” Yriaana said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“I would be surprised if you were,” replied Shandris. “It is strange, though, to think that we may have crossed paths a thousand times over in those years, and yet never met.”

“I suppose the order halls kept mostly to themselves,” Yriaana replied, “though, I did at one point induct a Kaldorei into ours.”

“You jest,” Shandris said, taken aback, “surely?”

“She felt that her education was incomplete, and yearned to know more,” Yriaana explained, with a little shrug. “I was not about to turn her away.”

“I suppose it is... not unheard of,” Shandris said, furrowing her brow. “Though I myself could never imagine abandoning Elune, after everything she has done for me.”

“I felt somewhat the same,” Yriaana said, looking up at the night sky, “but then, even though I follow the Light, it does not mean that I find the moon any less beautiful.”

Shandris' fingers laced between her own; it was a gesture of mutual understanding, if nothing else.

“We should be heading back,” she whispered, though she seemed a little reluctant. “Shouldn't we?”

“If you would like to,” answered Yriaana, feeling the same tug of resistance to the idea. “You have yet to fulfil your promise of telling me about moonwells, however.”

Shandris smiled – her cheeks were still stained with tears, but her smile was bright, and her eyes seemed to invite the idea of staying.

“I suppose it is an appropriate topic,” she said, absently stroking her thumb across the side of the Draenei's hand. “Well, to begin with...”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all enjoying what there is so far! Don't be afraid to leave criticism if there's something you dislike, all feedback is welcome. 'w'

In the weeks that followed, much was accomplished; though the old stronghold on Sardor Isle was not to be rebuilt as it was, it had been decided that it would be at least used as a storage area for surplus food, armor, and weapons that were taking up too much space on the mainland. Barriers had already begun to be erected to protect the newly planned buildings against the tides, and a makeshift dock was put in place to receive the items in question, now that the sea giants had given up on their naga-fronted blockade.

The remains of the two Kaldorei had been relocated to Darnassus, where they had been given a proper funeral, at long last; a final sweep of the island had turned up nothing more, and so it was the general consensus that whether proof of demise had been found or not, it was time to move on, and accept the most likely outcome.

On top of that, a large contingent of trainee sentinels was to be sent to Feathermoon to serve under Shandris, prompting the first major expansion effort of the settlement. The beginning of a second barracks was starting to take shape, just north-east of the current boundaries – it had taken some time to clear out the more invasive species and chase away the Horde lookouts, but it had all been worthwhile in the end.

Of course, it had prompted talks of just how and why _now,_ after so much time – and even those mostly immune to gossip had been drawn into the vortex of questions and assumptions.

“Did you hear? She has taken to calling her 'battle-sister', now...” one sentinel said, as she began to liberate herself from her hippogryph saddle, just outside the stables.

“Does it matter? Things are finally moving forward here,” replied another, shaking her head. “You would do well to keep your head down, for once.”

“I merely find it outlandish that we needed the assistance of –”

“Of what, exactly?” interjected an agitated Irela, who had stopped tending to a particularly elderly mount. “Are you jealous, or simply deluded?”

“I am neither! I simply find the current situation lamentable, that is all!” the first sentinel snapped back, affronted. “You needn't jump to the Highlord's defence, Irela – she has enough of a following to do that for her already!”

Before Irela had a chance to reply, the sentinel had turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving her hippogryph behind.

“Forgive her,” the other said, with an air of exasperation. “I fear she is simply never going to be at peace with how things are, right now.”

“Well, she is going to _have_ to, Adella!” Irela said, with a scowl.

“Is she, though?” Adella replied, though it wasn't exactly confrontational. “How long do you see her continuing to stay here? Weeks? Months?”

“Well, that is...”

“Some feel they were robbed of the opportunity to exact their revenge on the naga themselves,” Adella went on, “though I think that they are hoping those feelings fade, once she leaves.”

“What does it matter _who_ took care of them? Is their 'revenge' really that much more important to them than the security we have now?”

Adella shook her head.

“You are asking the wrong person,” she said. “I have seen only good things for us since her arrival, and I am in no hurry to see her gone. In fact, I...”

“What is it?”

“I worry that the malicious talk finds it way to her ears,” Adella said. “Or worse, to Lady Shandris'.”

“Surely, the latter is less of an issue?”

“You are young,” Adella said, with a soft smile. “I will say this much – it would not be taken lightly, were she to catch wind of such talk.”

“I suppose I shall keep my mouth shut for your friend's sake, then,” Irela said, clenching her jaw. “What do you mean, though – 'I am young'? Is there something I am missing?”

“I have not seen her quite like this since Shadowsong,” Adella hummed in response. “She is... quite taken with the Highlord.”

“Shadowsong? Maiev – of the Wardens?! That is who she...?”

“No, her brother, Jarod,” explained Adella. “From what I am told, it ended before it started, but Lady Shandris was utterly smitten.”

“And you think that now, she's – she's –”

“I do not _think_ it,” Adella said. “It is plain to see.”

“Well, so what?” Irela replied, frowning. “If that is the way of it, isn't it good for them?”

“Given her recent change in attitude, I simply do not wish to think about Lady Shandris' state of mind once the Highlord returns to her duties, in due time,” Adella sighed. “At any rate, I have spent enough of my day on idle banter – I should be getting back to my post.”

“Right, yes,” Irela said, looking a little put out. “I suppose we do all still have our duties.”

“That we do,” Adella said, turning to leave. “Take care.”

“I am not _that_ young,” Irela mumbled to herself, busying her hands with the reins of Adella's hippogryph. It offered a confused crow in reply, looking up at her expectantly. “Not that you care...”

 

**

 

“You cannot be serious,” Yriaana said, indignant. “The water is no doubt _freezing,_ not to mention –”

“Goodness,” Shandris cut in, an impish grin spreading across her features, “the Highlord is afraid of catching a chill?”

“I am not afraid of it,” stated the paladin, firmly, eyeing the little pool that the waterfall rushed into. “If your intent is to bait me, you will find your efforts lacking.”

“We have hiked nearly the length of the lower wilds and back, and you say that you do not feel the urge to dive in?”

“I am not saying that either!”

“Then what is your argument?”

Yriaana pursed her lips. They had spent nothing short of the entire day and the early hours of the night 'surveying the land' – which was apparently Kaldorei shorthand for torching gnoll encampments, tramping all the way through the swampy mess of New Thalanaar to discuss trade arrangements, and climbing the cliffs at the south face of the forest, so that Shandris could better observe the damage in Silithus. She had not spoken her thoughts on the latter, knowing that it was likely a subject best left well alone.

“I – it is... something and nothing...” muttered Yriaana, looking away from her. “I do not swim... well.”

“Truly? That is all?”

“It is enough of an obstacle for me,” Yriaana huffed, “but I am hardly stopping you from enjoying it yourself.”

“It is shallow, here,” Shandris said, seemingly undeterred. “You could likely reach the bottom, at your height, and the current is not –”

“You really will not give it up, will you?”

“It has been stated to be both one of my best and worst features,” Shandris said, with a wide smile. “Come, I will show you.”

As the Kaldorei began to remove the outer layers of her armor, Yriaana found herself averting her eyes, as if she would be committing some level of crime to even face towards her.

“If you just – what is the matter?” asked Shandris, as she finished peeling off her leathers.

“It is considered rude to stare,” Yriaana mumbled, still gazing over in another direction entirely. If she had been looking, she would have no doubt noticed that Shandris' cheeks were dusted a darker shade of purple.

“Had you planned to stare if it was not?”

“That is not what I implied!” Yriaana cried out, forcefully holding her neck in its position.

“I am still decent,” Shandris said, realising the futility of the situation. “You have little need to act so coy.”

Reluctantly, Yriaana returned her gaze; true to her word, she _was_ still decent. Her cloth undershirt clung to her body, and the shorts she wore covered most of her legs, down to the knee. She watched, as Shandris sat on the banks, dipping her feet into the waters, then slipped into it entirely.

“See?” the Kaldorei said, with a reassuring smile. “Even I can reach the riverbed, if I stand here.”

“Then I suppose I do not really have a defence,” Yriaana sighed, standing up to begin unfastening her own armor. To her credit, Shandris seemed more than able to read the mood, and turned to face the other way, leaning back against the riverbank.

“This is truly heavenly,” said Shandris, in a low murmur, the waterfall almost drowning her out, “and not even that cold.”

Yriaana finished folding her leathers and placing her mace to one side, along with Shandris'; it had been some time since she had felt quite so exposed, but she endeavoured to quash those feelings, as she slid into the water tentatively, clad only in her thin underclothes. Her hooves did in fact reach the bottom – a true relief, for her.

“No, not that cold,” she affirmed, using her arms to anchor herself at the shore. “Light, this is good...”

“And to think that you were going to pass up the opportunity,” Shandris hummed. “For shame, Highlord...”

“Does it please you to use that title to tease me so?” Yriaana asked, her eyes shut tight.

“Greatly,” replied Shandris, watching the tension lift from the paladin's face briefly, before it reappeared in the form of a tight frown.

“You mentioned something before,” the Draenei began, a nagging thought returning to the forefront of her mind, “of how the Kaldorei's ties to the Alliance have always been strained.”

“Well, I suppose it was no great secret,” Shandris replied, with a shrug.

“Have you not grown closer, over time?”

Shandris smiled.

“Truthfully, no,” she said, plainly. “If anything, the death of the king – the _previous_ king – has only widened the rift.”

“That is... well, it is unfortunate.”

“There are many of my people who question the boy-king's leadership – not of his own city, or his people, but of the Alliance as a whole,” Shandris explained. “It was always fair to assume that he would have inherited the crown from his father someday, but to fill a far greater position, uncontested? Someone so young, even in human terms, in charge of so many lives? It is preposterous...”

“I suppose it is not really my place to say anything,” muttered Yriaana. “We have only been with the Alliance a matter of a few short years, and on this planet for scant weeks longer than that.”

“You are entitled to an opinion,” Shandris replied. “I shall keep it a secret, you know.”

“I... have always felt that the viewpoints of many are far better than filtering everything through one lens,” said Yriaana, slowly. “I would have thought that given the situation, some sort of a council would have made sense...”

“I should have expected such a level-headed answer,” Shandris said, with a small, impish grin. “Yes, it would have, wouldn't it? It may surprise you, but none among the Kaldorei seek to place themselves at the head of the Alliance – we simply wish to have our voices heard. Lately, that has not been... well, that much, you are aware of.”

There was a lull in the conversation, though it was not an uncomfortable silence; it was broken almost a full hour later, by a worrisome thought.

“Is this... acceptable?”

Shandris inched closer.

“What do you mean?”

“War is at our doorstep once more,” Yriaana said, still refusing to open her eyes. “And here I am, bathing, as if I had not a care in the world...”

“Given what you have accomplished, I would say you have earned it,” said Shandris.

“What if the next place they choose to strike is here?” Yriaana asked. “What if –”

“Please trust me when I say this,” Shandris cut in. “I am not some complacent fool, nor am I ignorant to what likely looms ahead.”

Yriaana made a soft noise in the back of her throat that could have been agreement.

“However,” she went on, “if you forget what it is to enjoy yourself every so often, you are about as much of a person as the weapon you left on the shore.”

Another little grunt.

“You do not agree?”

“I know you are right,” Yriaana huffed. “It is just... accepting it.”

“I understand, you know,” Shandris said. “I would not give the advice if I had not been forced to follow it myself, at one point.”

“Mm?”

“The wedding between my Lady and Malfurion,” Shandris said, a look of fond remembrance in her eyes. “I _was_ her witness, but suffice it to say, I took quite some coercing, at the time. At any rate, Malfurion told me afterward that I was just as adept at organising wedding guests as I was at combat – it was a strange compliment to me at first, but the more I thought about it, I remembered that there was much more to me than what I had accomplished on the field of battle. Perhaps it is odd, that it took something like that to stir those feelings, but...”

Yriaana opened her eyes at last to look across at Shandris, still sporting that same contented expression.

“It is not so odd,” she said, quietly.

“Oh? I am glad you can see it that way as well, then,” Shandris hummed, pressing herself shoulder to shoulder against the paladin. “I would not want you to forget who you are.”

Yriaana shifted a little in place, in case the sentinel's actions had been unintentional, but the warmth of her skin seemed to follow hers, and so she relented.

“I wish to ask something personal of you,” Shandris asked, her gaze falling at Yriaana's collarbone, rather than meeting her eyes. “If that... would be alright.”

“You may ask whatever you wish,” Yriaana said, her cheeks flushing a darker grey. “You should know this, by now.”

“Is there anyone that you care for, in your life? A-as more than...”

Was there? All that came to mind were a few loose flings what felt like a lifetime gone, and something of a growing attachment to someone a good while ago that had long since been snuffed out.

Wait, why was –

“For me, there have been none, since... well, that is unimportant,” Shandris said, her once distant hand now resting on Yriaana's far shoulder.

Her breathing was unsteady, her pulse rising; it was a situation she was decidedly unused to, after all.

“No,” Yriaana managed, barely. “My... position did – _does_ not leave me with much time to consider...”

“Nor mine,” Shandris mumbled, angling herself so that she was almost face to face with Yriaana, anchoring herself with both hands upon her shoulders. “Does this bother you?”

“It...” Yriaana began, swallowing hard. “No.”

The Kaldorei's body was pressed against hers, now, the warmth far eclipsing any of the lingering coolness of the stream.

“That is good,” replied Shandris, letting out a little sigh of relief. “Perhaps it is strange to come to trust someone so soon, but this feels...”

“It – it is comforting,” Yriaana said, in earnest, her hands tentatively snaking their way up the elf's back. “Sorry, I... the words are not coming as freely as I feel they should...”

“Then do not worry about finding them,” Shandris whispered, resting her chin on Yriaana's shoulder and letting her support the two of them, as she leaned forward, her feet leaving the riverbed.

“M-mm...”

“Good,” murmured Shandris. “Please, if we could stay like this, just for a little longer...”

Yriaana held her a little closer in response; she doubted that words could have done any better, anyway.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while, I've been busy with BfA (much like I expect a lot of people have)  
> I hope that pre-BfA content is still exciting to read, because I don't much care for BfA lore so far.
> 
> I've switched the rating to E since this was a bit more overt than I remembered when I wrote it.

There was no 'first thought', as Yriaana awoke – it was a jumble of thoughts, each as confusing as the last. What was she _doing?_

The world was continuing to turn on its axis, with or without her presence, but with every dawn that came, her doubts redoubled.

She had had her break from it all, hadn't she? Shouldn't now be the time to gather herself together, and make her triumphant return?

But then, what would that entail? Leading campaigns against the Horde? That wasn't what she had signed up for, when she took on the position. It was a decision born of necessity – and still, even if she relinquished the title to Liadrin, wouldn't they still want her to take care of their dirty work?

Khadgar had seemed beyond despondent when they had last spoke in Silithus, and she shared his sentiments. She, too, had no desire to aid either side in this conflict – Alliance, Horde, it made no difference to her any more. Both factions had thrown everything away and shown their hand, and she wasn't even sure that the Light would approve of her actions, were she to simply pretend nothing had happened. She scoffed at that, not caring much what the Light thought of anything she might do, lately.

She groaned into her pillow, pushing her face into it as far as it would go, perhaps hoping she could disappear into the silks and be done with it all.

All this too, was without even _beginning_ to unwrap what had happened last night, at the river. Was it merely comfort that they sought from each other, and nothing more?

It would certainly simplify things, if that were the case, yet...

“Ah, you're awake?” Shyria inquired, poking her head out from behind a pillar. “Lady Shandris was looking for you, but I told her to give you some time.”

“Do not tell me,” Yriaana began, sitting bolt upright, “that you let her see me asleep?”

“Well,” Shyria said, slowly. “It is not as if I have the authority to stop her.”

Yriaana cursed under her breath.

“I would not worry,” the innkeeper said. “She found the sight rather –”

“I do not _want_ to know how she –”

“– I believe she said –”

_“Stop –”_

“– 'pleasing'.”

Yriaana sighed, pushing aside the covers, biting her lip a little.

“Forgive me,” said Shyria, though the smile on her face informed Yriaana that being forgiven didn't matter this way or that. “I do not think that it was dire news she came to share, at least.”

“I suppose I should be pleased,” Yriaana muttered, pulling on her leathers.

“Oh, and you have something addressed to you,” the innkeeper went on. Yriaana almost choked on her throat.

“I – are you certain? I did not give anyone my whereabouts...”

“Quite certain,” Shyria said, as she made to busy herself elsewhere, “it is there on the cabinet for you.”

Sure enough, it was there – a lone envelope with her name and assumed location, with nothing marking it as extraordinary. She turned it over in her hands a few times, before finally slipping her finger underneath the blank seal.

It was from Liadrin. She had scanned for the signature first, too curious to know who had supposedly tracked her down to read the contents.

As her eyes darted back and forth across the carefully penned lettering, she let out an exasperated exhale.

 

_Highlord,_

 

_Quite why you didn't cover your tracks better is beyond me._

_You should also inform Shandris Feathermoon that certain members of her 'spy network' have extraordinarily loose tongues._

 

_At any rate, I hope this letter finds you well. Things are – well, chaotic, here. The Order itself is coming apart at the seams, and I am unable to patch them up. I am not sure what there will be to return to, in even a matter of weeks. Everyone seems to have their own agenda, and none seem to be pursuing a common cause any longer._

 

_I do not blame you for leaving; quite the opposite. In fact, I would hope that you would not hold it against me if I were to follow in your footsteps._

_I was recently made aware that you had seen me as a worthy successor to your position. I am truly honoured that you think so – however, I could not in good faith accept, with things as they are. Having seen our campaign through to its end, I am as disillusioned as you._

 

_I too, feel that I may need some time to reconsider what this all means, and hope to meet with you soon in the near future, so that we may discuss what is to become of this place._

 

_As always, I shall place my trust in your decisions._

 

_Liadrin_

 

It was a painful read. She hadn't even _considered_ that Liadrin might have had enough, too. For a supposed hero of the Light, she couldn't feel any more selfish if she had tried.

She didn't even care that there was a chance the whole world knew where she was hiding. Even if nothing could, or would change, this was a loose end that couldn't be ignored any more, as much as she willed it.

 

\---

 

Yriaana practically ignored the pair of sentinels that guarded the entrance to Shandris' quarters; they didn't try to stop her, but she knew she should probably pay a little more respect to formalities. Maybe later, there would be time for apologies, but now was most certainly not the time.

She ran into Shandris halfway up the ramp, almost quite literally – she had to be held in place by her shoulders to pay attention to the very person she was looking for.

“Yri– ? What? What is it?” Shandris asked, concerned. “Are you –”

“This,” she said, a little out of breath, pushing the folded letter into her hands.

She watched as Shandris read through it, her brow furrowing.

“She found out where you were through my–? I shall be asking questions of my own,” she muttered. “What does this mean for you, though? Do you intend to...?”

“I must speak with her soon, yes,” Yriaana said, leaning against the closest bookcase. “She is one of my closest friends – I cannot let her deal with this alone, knowing that she feels the same way I do.”

“Mm. But you will return?”

There was something that was so hopeful, almost longing in the Kaldorei's eyes, that Yriaana found it difficult to answer.

“Yes,” she answered, softly. “As soon as I have taken care of this, I will return.”

“Do you swear it?”

The way in which it was asked tugged at a place in Yriaana's heart that had not known such a pull in a long, long time; the other woman's fear of abandonment was evident, and it pained her as much as, if not more than how she had felt reading the letter.

“You have my word,” she said, taking a tight hold of Shandris' hand. “Yes, I swear it.”

“That is... good,” Shandris said, quietly. “When do you – I mean, do you have plans, for...”

“In the morning,” replied Yriaana, nearly apologetic. “It should only be a matter of days, perhaps a week – Liadrin is not known for drawing things out.”

“I feel –” Shandris began, drawing in a deep breath. “– like I am young again, chasing after what I know I should not.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then she went on.

“I do mean you, if you were unaware.”

Yriaana found the grip she had on Shandris' hand had been returned in kind, though she also found herself feeling somewhat numb, all of a sudden.

“I – was not unaware, no, but...” she managed. “Once I speak to Liadrin, the next step will likely be to see what exactly is expected of me, as far as my commitment to the Alliance is concerned.”

Shandris nodded, slowly.

“I am... truly sorry that I cannot give you anything more set in stone,” Yriaana replied, sullenly. “I cannot simply walk away, much as I have sometimes wished to.”

“If you did, I would not respect you as I do,” said Shandris, taking a step closer. “I understand. Perhaps once things are straightened out, we can talk more plainly.”

“Yes,” whispered the paladin. “I would like that.”

“I will be honest, though,” Shandris said, “if you are leaving tomorrow, then...”

She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Yriaana's lips; the Kaldorei seemed to taste faintly of wild berries, and she found herself loathe to let her pull away.

Yriaana flushed a dark grey, an unintentional and embarrassing squeak escaping her throat.

“Y-you... I do not wish to lead you on,” she stammered, doing her best not to meet the other woman's eyes. “It – it may only serve to complicate things further, and I...”

“I am not a child,” Shandris replied in a low murmur, pushing Yriaana gently against the wall. “I am quite capable of making my own decisions, Highlord.”

She moved closer again, prompting Yriaana to place a hand against the hard leather of her jerkin.

“At least, not here,” she whispered. “Your sentinels, they are right outside...”

“You are so concerned with what they all think of you,” Shandris said, her breath hot against Yriaana's cheek. “It is rather endearing.”

“Y-your quarters are right there,” Yriaana huffed, quietly. “It would hardly be an inconvenience...”

“How very forward of you,” replied Shandris, her lips almost touching the other, quivering set. “Are you inviting me into my own quarters?”

“I – I did not –”

“Oh, hush,” Shandris said, with a muted, breathy giggle. “You are far too fun to tease. Come, then.”

She was led, by the tips of her fingers, through the gnarled oak arch that separated off her room from the rest of the building; there was a variety of dried flowers hanging from a number of strings at the apex, giving some sense of privacy.

There was a pleasant scent to the room, something that smelled decidedly foreign, and almost spicy to Yriaana – the source was a bowl of what looked to be some kind of oil, positioned on a makeshift desk near the door.

Scrolls and parchments lay strewn haphazardly all over the floor and almost every surface – a lot of them seemed to be merely discarded drafts of outgoing letters, but there were some that had been neatly folded and placed to one side out of harm's way, clearly more important than the others.

As she was guided further inside, her eye was drawn to an exceedingly intricate wood carving of a nightsaber that took pride of place on the sill of the window. Shandris followed her gaze, smiling.

“A gift from Malfurion,” she said, still keeping a gentle hold of Yriaana's hand.

Several of the items they had salvaged from the old Feathermoon had found their way to her room, too, whether hung on the wall or placed delicately on shelving.

“Sit,” Shandris implored, ushering her towards the edge of the small bed at the opposite side of the room.

Yriaana did sit, almost in a daze, on the edge of the mattress; she looked up, and met the Kaldorei's eyes, finding them just as alluring as the first time she had seen them.

“Are you quite content now,” Shandris whispered, gently lowering herself onto Yriaana's lap, “Highlord?”

There was no time to bite back at the obvious bait, for Shandris had bridged the gap between their lips in an instant, pushing more fervently against her.

“You,” panted Shandris, breaking away after what felt like a small eternity, “are wonderful.”

The paladin was breathless, but managed to force out a few whispers that sounded suspiciously like the words, _'Light, help me'_.

“I have not felt so alive as I have in the last month with you, in...” Shandris sighed, longingly. “From the bottom of my heart, thank you. For... for sharing everything that you have, with me.”

Yriaana wrapped her arms shakily around the Kaldorei's back, and pulled her tight against her, as she had in the river; much as it was comforting in and of itself, it also stirred feelings of desire that had long been pushed down into the far-flung recesses of her mind and heart.

“You seem nervous,” Shandris whispered into her ear, brushing hair out of the way as she did.

“I – I am not,” Yriaana replied, nervously.

Shandris smiled, knowingly, pressing gentle kisses to the other woman's neck.

“You need not worry,” she said, unfastening the straps at the nape of Yriaana's neck that held her leathers on. “I shall take care of you.”

She allowed herself to be undressed, slowly, revealing a plethora of scarring from millennia of combat. There was a particularly horrid one that had never truly healed, just above her navel, where a fel-cursed spear had ran her through. Shandris touched her palm to it, lightly, causing Yriaana to flinch and pull away, out of instinct.

“Forgive me,” Yriaana muttered. “It is... not something anyone has seen, let alone...”

“I am much the same,” Shandris replied, unperturbed. “This, though... this is –”

“A... reminder of what _I_ was willing to sacrifice,” Yriaana said, a weak smile playing across her features, as she lay down on the bed, covering herself with the sheets. Though she no longer felt any real discomfort at being in such a state of undress around Shandris, her modesty still won through, in the end.

Shandris' eyes grew a little wider for a moment, before nodding in silent affirmation, then standing up and beginning to disrobe herself.

Yriaana hadn't been paying close enough attention at the river to notice, but the Kaldorei's body was equally as marred by old wounds. She too, seemed a little self-conscious, but she didn't allow it to ruin the moment, climbing into the bed beside the Draenei.

The first thing she noticed was the heat – it was not tempered by the stream's waters, this time, and as Shandris curled against her, the overwhelming feelings of warmth and comfort seemed to be making definite threats to keep her in this bed forever.

They lay together like that for some time, simply savouring the feeling of closeness. Shandris' head lay neatly in the crook of Yriaana's neck, her hair now loosed from its ponytail, fanning over the paladin's chest.

Yriaana's breath caught a little when she felt lips at her collarbone, nipping lightly at the skin there; it caught once more when she felt Shandris almost imperceptibly moving against her thigh, with what felt like the utmost restraint. Light, if she listened carefully, she could _hear_ it.

Her far hand snaked its way up Shandris' back, slipping into her hair, and gently scratched acknowledgement and encouragement into her scalp. The Kaldorei let out a shaky exhale against her skin, arching her back into Yriaana; her efforts at grinding against her leg were now definitely a deliberate act, and her heavier breathing was to show for it.

Briefly, she wondered just what Shandris had been thinking of, and for how long, to get herself so worked up, so quickly – those thoughts quickly passed, when she felt sharp, elven canines raking against her neck, and slender fingers teasing at her nether lips.

She let out what could only be described as a desperate mewl, as the fingers began to explore her more thoroughly, teasing a slow, deliberate line up and down.

The ensuing subdued writhing only served to spur Shandris on, eager to draw more of those noises from Yriaana's – no, the _Highlord's,_ she thought to herself, a little smug – mouth; she slipped one nimble, delicate fingertip inside of her, and was justly rewarded with a fresh round of muted whines.

“You needn't hold it in,” Shandris whispered, between light kisses on the paladin's jaw. “In fact, I would much prefer if you didn't.”

She knew that Yriaana could not very well answer, given what she was doing to her, but took the soft moan and gentle nod as both affirmation, and permission to continue.

She truly _couldn't_ answer, much as she had wanted to. Her head was swimming with the almost-forgotten sensations, overriding all of her other thoughts. It was _different_ to what she remembered, at that. She had lain with men of her race before, but their touches had been clumsy, their hands not suited for delicate work. This was entirely different; the Kaldorei knew exactly how and where to touch her to catch her off guard, to make her want to thrash against the covers.

Shandris' opposite hand trailed slow, almost torturous lines up her stomach, and came to rest beneath one of her breasts, stroking at the underside of it; the teasing reached an apex when she began to circle the nipple with the edge of a nail, ensuring that she was never directly meeting it, merely brushing it in passing.

“Ah, you cannot...” Yriaana managed, frustrated beyond measure. “Please... if you are going to touch me, th-then do so... I cannot abide this maddening game.”

Shandris let out a noise that was almost destined to be a giggle, but ended up more of a breathy moan of triumph.

“I did not think you would come to plead with me so easily, and so quickly,” she hummed, practically wrapped around Yriaana's thigh, as she rutted against it.

Expressing her mild indignation wasn't anywhere near at the top of her list of priorities – so she simply let Shandris have her victory.

Light, as if it mattered. She _wanted_ her to win.

All she could do was writhe against Shandris' hand, her hips pushing upwards of their own accord, aching to be closer to her touch. She felt the Kaldorei shudder hard and utter something in her own tongue, once, and was even vaguely aware of her biting down on her shoulder, but her gentle ministrations never once ceased, even as she brought herself back from the precipice; her thumb now circled the pinkish bud at the top of her entrance, as two tireless fingers continued to thrust into her with fervour. More and more, she felt her mind becoming hazy, as if there were nothing else in the world but this room, the two of them, and –

She unravelled in that instant, making an attempt to silence herself with the back of her hand, and failing spectacularly. If the sentinels downstairs didn't have an inkling before, then she had definitely given them food for thought now.

 

 

It took her some time to come down from her high. When she finally settled her breathing, and opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Shandris' face, next to her on the pillow.

“You are truly beautiful, when you – ah, perhaps... I should not...”

“Speak freely,” Yriaana said, with a faux air of superiority. “I believe you have earned the right.”

That only earned her a firm shove in the shoulder.

“So you _do_ have a sense of humour, then,” Shandris huffed, though she was smiling, nevertheless. “A shame it has only reared its head now.”

“I jest, yes,” whispered Yriaana, planting a soft kiss on Shandris' forehead. “Thank you. For...”

“For what?”

“For reminding me, of... what it means, to be a person again.”

“Oh, you give me far too much credit,” Shandris mumbled, pressing her head into the crook of the paladin's neck once more. “I could quite get used to this, though.”

“I suppose that is the dangerous part,” Yriaana mused, absently. “Attachments – they are... complicated, are they not?”

“They can be,” Shandris agreed, before lowering her voice. “I... I hope that you do not come to regret what we just...”

“I will not, but –”

“I did not want you to forget me, even if it was only to be a week,” she went on, burying her face into Yriaana's skin. “I – you did not feel pressured into anything, I hope...”

“No,” whispered the paladin. “But I would not have forgotten.”

“It is reassuring to be able to take you at your word,” Shandris said, in a quiet murmur. “I am glad.”

“Mm.”

“You said once, that you had stopped counting your years,” said Shandris, running a soft trail down the Draenei's arm with her fingertips. “Yet you never explained why.”

Yriaana froze up, the muscles in her upper body tensing involuntarily.

“I have a feeling that I know,” Shandris went on, gently. “We are all aware that Turalyon yet lives, despite the... limitations, of his race...”

“I did not want –” Yriaana started, almost biting her tongue in her rush to get the words out. “It is hard to explain. I do not wish to fall in battle, yet I did not wish to live forever.”

“Were you told, when you undertook your trial?”

“We thought that at most, we would lead longer lives – my people are hardly short-lived, but none of us expected – I cannot see how _anyone_ would want...”

“You should rest,” said Shandris, quietly cutting across her. “Come, it will be morning soon enough.”

“If it will not make you uncomfortable, I should like to sleep here, with you,” Yriaana mumbled.

“I was not about to let you leave, after that,” whispered the Kaldorei, lacing her fingers with the other woman's. “When you return, we will set aside some time to discuss this – yes?”

“Yes,” Yriaana said, nodding softly, as Shandris' other hand pulled her closer. “Thank you.”

 


End file.
